A/N: Here I am again. Chapter four all ready to go. I hope you will enjoy this chapter and I would like to thank all of you who show an interest in reading Fleur De La Mer. Trust me when I say that I really appreciate it!
A BIG thanks again to Peeves' Best Friend, who after all, is the most amazing Beta and friend I could have.
FLEUR DE LA MER
CHAPTER FOUR: Jealousy and Pride
FLEUR (Beauxbatons Carriage, November 1st, 08.03 a.m.)
The first thought Fleur had when she woke up, was about never drinking firewhiskey again.
After she had gotten back from the meeting with the other champions, including Harry Potter, she had staggered back to the carriage in annoyance. Only to be surprised by Inès and her fellow classmates for a celebration. While some where obviously really disappointed about not being elected champion - like Jacques Gaillard, who had not shown his face for the entire evening - others had been really happy about Fleur's election.
Lianne Richard, not exactly known for her kindness, had even come to congratulate Fleur. But that might also be thanks to Inès' ability to smuggle alcohol under Maxime's nose.
Nonetheless, Fleur really cursed herself for letting it go that far. Wine, she could handle, she was French. But firewhiskey might have been a step too far. The last thing she could remember was something about vowing to defeat Krum in Quidditch. Not that Fleur couldn't fly, but she was no world champion Quidditch player.
She got up, her head hurting, and when the light hit her eyes, she reached for her nearby wand and aggressively waved it around so the curtains would close. Realizing it was Sunday, she simply fell back in bed and tried to return to sleep. Which - even though she was exhausted - proved to be immensely difficult.
A couple of hours and several glasses of water later, Fleur felt like new again. Unlike her classmates, who were still doing a pretty good impression of brainless Inferi. Ignoring the mess in the common room of the carriage, as the house elves would clean it up, she grabbed her dark blue long-coat.
Thank god I remembered to bring one, Fleur thought as she swiped her blond hair out of the collar.
Breathing in the fresh air, she decided against going to the castle, and started exploring the grounds instead. It was a beautiful day really. The air was crisp, the sun was shining, and you couldn't see a cloud in the sky. It was almost like a French day in autumn. Almost. If only the rays of sun had more power.
Walking by the lake, she could clearly see the difference between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. While Beauxbatons was all neatly trimmed gardens and shimmering fountains, Hogwarts clearly went for structured chaos. She didn't know which one she preferred. There was a certain edge to structured chaos that she liked.
Suddenly she stopped walking. A few yards ahead of her, she could see the fourth champion, the Boy Who Lived, arguing with the girl she met yesterday in the library. Remembering how they had indeed sat together at the welcoming feast, she realized that they had to be friends.
Fleur frowned, still not clear on what to think of the whole extra champion situation. She remembered last night. Everybody screaming at each other, everybody arguing, and yet Harry Potter had been eerily quiet. The only thing he had said, was that he hadn't put his name in the Goblet. She didn't know if she could believe him or not, Madame Maxime clearly didn't, but the stunned expression he had on his pale face did speak for him. Nonetheless, she had been pretty upset with him and the whole situation, so upset even, that she had lost control and called him a little boy. If he hadn't thought she was arrogant after the whole Dumbledore-speech-debacle, he probably thought so now.
She sighed. Whether he had done it or not, she had one more rival to worry about. And yes, that was an issue. As if Krum wasn't enough cause for worry. And Diggory! Merlin, she kept forgetting about Diggory.
The argument in front of her eyes had come to an end with The Boy Who Lived storming off to what Fleur now knew as the Owlery. Hermione Granger, the girl who was willing to spend an entire day in the library just to prove her professor wrong, was left standing by the side of the lake.
Fleur started slowly walking in her direction, but before she could reach the girl, she had already started moving towards the castle. Fleur scowled. She had actually hoped to talk to her.
RON (Gryffindor Common Room, November 1st)
Ron Weasley was scowling by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. He hadn't seen Harry today yet, and that was probably a good thing.
As if it wasn't enough that everyone had been in high spirits yesterday, this morning he had to listen to Seamus moan about how Harry was going to beat Cedric's ass in the first challenge. And he had to listen to Fred and George contemplating how Harry had passed the Age Line. Not to mention how they had gone over and over about him not knowing anything about it. Oh, and then several Hufflepuffs found it necessary to accidentally walk into him during breakfast. As if he was to blame for Harry's sudden election as fourth champion.
Ron's ears went bright red as he remembered how Harry had denied that he had put his name in the Goblet last night. He had looked positively ridiculous, with that red banner draped around his shoulders, and his standard tortured 'the whole world is against me again' look in his eyes. For Merlin's sake, could he at least try to look convincing?
Hermione dropped in the armchair opposite of him, and like him, seemed in a really bad mood. She stared at him, with these angry eyes, obviously trying to make him feel bad for something he had or hadn't done.
"What? I had nothing to do with Crookshanks getting locked up in that storage closet, okay? It wasn't me." He sighed, looking into the fire.
"Crookshanks got what?" Hermione asked shocked. "Look, whatever, I don't care about that. You need to talk to Harry."
Ron scowled. Of course she was on his side."No. I'm not talking to that traitor."
Hermione sighed and sunk back in her armchair. "He didn't put his name in the Goblet, Ron."
"Oh no? Then how did it get in there?" He said bitterly "It's not like anyone else wants him to participate. He did it, and now he's lying to me about it. What a best friend he is. He could have at least told me."
Hermione looked at him with pitying eyes, but didn't argue against him.
"Look, just go back to him, will you? It's not like you're ever on my side. So instead of sitting here with the sidekick, go hang out with The Boy Who Lived. If you're lucky you might even get an autograph. But better be quick about it, I heard he only hands out 20 a day." Ron spit and stood up, leaving a stunned Hermione sitting alone.
He climbed through the portrait, and of course Harry was standing in the hallway on the other side. This time he wasn't surrounded by cheering Gryffindors, instead he was all alone and he looked positively miserable. Ron refused to look at him, and walked straight past his former best friend. He didn't stop walking until he was all the way downstairs, where he realized he had absolutely no clue what he was going to do now.
HERMIONE (Gryffindor Common Room, November 1st)
First Harry and now Ron? Hermione had assumed that once the champions were picked, life could get back to normal. But now Ron was jealous and angry and a general pain in the ass, and Harry was about to get killed in a stupid tournament while he got pretty much everyone against him who wasn't a Gryffindor.
And if that wasn't enough, Ron and Harry weren't speaking because both were too bloody proud.
She believed Harry of course, when he said he didn't put his name in the Goblet. But this was turning fast into another 'let's try to kill Harry Potter'-year, and Hermione was pretty much out of moves.
Getting up out of the armchair, she left the common room behind. Since Ron wasn't in actual danger, unless maybe from himself, she figured that Harry could use her help more than Ron did. And what does one do when in doubt? Go to the library.
While she admired Madame Pince's work ethic, she was always surprised that the Hogwarts library was open 24/7. And while the library was mostly empty on Sundays, you never knew when a tsunami of students would waltz in, panicking because they had put off doing their homework for too long. So when Hermione walked in and only saw a couple of Ravenclaws, she was relieved.
She quickly made her way over to the legal section, her standard spot, nodding at Madame Pince when she passed the librarian. Clearly having forgiven Hermione for yesterday's noise, the librarian nodded back in recognition.
It didn't take long before Hermione had found every book that vaguely mentioned something about the Triwizard Tournament and dragged it towards her table, and it took even less time before she was mesmerized by this 800 pages counting book describing the Tournament somewhere in the 1700s.
She was so mesmerized in fact, that she didn't notice Fleur Delacour dropping in a chair next to hers.
"Bonjour." Fleur said and Hermione looked up in surprise. "I zought you'd be here."
Fleur looked over to all the books on the table, realizing instantly what Hermione was researching.
"Ze Tournament eh?" She said, running her hand over the leather covers, "You are 'oping to 'elp your friend Harry?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes. I think he needs all the help he can get right now." She smiled, glad to see the French witch again. "Congratulations by the way. I have no doubt you will do great."
"Zank you 'Ermione." Fleur grinned, putting her hand lightly on Hermione's arm for a second "I 'ope I will." Then she frowned, withdrawing her hand. "I need to ask you some'zing."
Hermione sighed, realizing what came next and for some reason she wished Fleur had left her hand on her arm. Maybe she actually was a Veela. "You want to ask me about Harry."
"Oui." Fleur nodded. "You seem good friends and I need to know, I would not ask o'zerwise. 'Ermione, did 'e put 'is name in ze Goblet?"
"No" Hermione said, looking straight into Fleur's serious dark blue eyes. "He didn't."
Fleur remained silent for a minute, scanning Hermione's face and Hermione could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.
"Okay." Fleur said eventually, breaking off the stare. "I believe you."
She sighed and sunk back in her chair. "But if 'e did not do it, 'zan 'oo did?"
"We don't know." Hermione shrugged. "He's Harry Potter, people tend to have it out for him." She closed the book in front of her and asked: "So, you said you thought I'd be here, were you looking for me?"
Fleur grinned at Hermione, "Oui. You are ze only Hogwarts student I enjoyed a real conversation wi'z, and if you are willing to spend a day in ze library to look up legal facts around ze Unforgivables, it was logical you like spending time here." She winked. "Some'zing in me said you like to read."
"Yeah, I do." Hermione laughed, deciding to change the topic once again. "So are you happy that you are now the Beauxbatons champion?"
"Oui." Fleur said happily. "I 'ave been 'oping to be chosen for weeks now."
"Even though you might die?"
Fleur laughed. "What is life wi'zout a little risk?"
"I don't know, less dangerous?" Hermione smiled but quickly changed into a grimace. "A lot less complicated.."
Fleur frowned at Hermione's expression. "Did some'zing 'appen?"
"Nothing to worry about." Hermione tried to dismiss the question, but the piercing eyes of the witch next to her made her hesitate.
"You don't need to tell me if you do not want to." Fleur said softly, putting her hand on Hermione's arm for a second time.
"It's Harry and Ron.." Hermione sighed, giving in and glad to be able to vent a little. "They are my two best friends and now they refuse to talk to each other over something as stupid as this tournament. Even though it is so obvious that someone is, once again, trying to get Harry killed. But Ron is jealous of the spotlight, and Harry is too stubborn and proud and I'm stuck in the middle again." Suddenly realizing who exactly she was venting to, she turned towards Fleur. "I'm sorry, I don't even know why I'm telling you this.."
"Zat is okay," Fleur shrugged "I don't mind listening to you, 'onestly, I quite enjoy it. Do not worry about it. Eventually 'zey wil realize zat zey were bo'z wrong. Zey are quite lucky wi'z a friend like you."
Hermione smiled at the French witch who was trying to comfort her, and got up from her seat, gesturing for Fleur to follow her into the maze that was the library. She walked quickly, trailing the bookcases with her fingers, stopping after a while in front of a shelf with particularly old books. She tapped the back of an old black book with her finger.
"I discovered this book a while ago and after yesterday I thought you could use this for your essay."
Fleur reached for the book on the shelf, opened it on a random page and scowled after seeing some of the rather vile pictures in the book.
"History of the Blackest Curses." Hermione said. "I believe there is a chapter on the creation of the Unforgivables. Not the actual spellmaking, otherwise it'd belong in the restricted section, but more on the circumstances surrounding their creation."
She leaned against the dusty bookcase and looked at the scowl on Fleur's face.
"Not the nicest of all books, I know.."
"Zank you." Fleur said after a pause, "I'm sure I can use zis." She closed the book and looked at Hermione. "I 'ope that I do not 'ave to write my essay now that I am ze champion, but you never know wirz Maxime."
"I 'ave to go now." Fleur continued, "I promised a friend we would go search for coffee, you British only 'ave tea apparently. Can you imagine ze chaos down in ze carriage? "
Hermione smiled a little sadly and nodded. "You should try the kitchens, not that I know where they are, Fred and George currently refuse to tell me."
Fleur laughed loudly, getting a 'shhht' from several books as response. "Why would zese Fred and George refuse to tell you?"
"They don't want me to free any house elves." sighed Hermione. "If you find the kitchens, let me know?"
"I will." Fleur smiled, if she was confused she didn't show it. "Let's talk again soon, oui? I quite enjoy your company."
"Of course.. and thank you for listening." Hermione said and watched how Fleur turned around, checking the book Hermione gave her out and getting a scolding from Madame Pince for laughing too loud. Before the French witch left the library, she waved at Hermione. From all the way on the other side of the library, Hermione could see Fleur greeting another Beauxbatons witch with a kiss on the cheek before venturing off, deeper into Hogwarts. Gathering her things too, she chose to ignore the growing black feeling in her stomach. Kissing people on the cheek was a French custom, right?
HARRY (Potions, November 5, 02.57 p.m.)
If Harry had thought that everything was going to blow over after a couple of days, he was wrong. While the Ravenclaws where relatively calm about the matter, it was obvious that they didn't approve of him. The Hufflepuffs, who had always approved of him before, were currently on the warpath and the Slytherins were simply having a field day with it all. Even some of the Professors were icy towards him, at best. It didn't matter that he claimed he didn't do it as loud as he could, because even his best friend, even Ron, didn't believe him.
And that was what made everything even worse. Harry had dealt with being the outcast before, but at least he had Ron on his side then. Now Ron refused to even look at him and always sat as far away from Harry as possible.
He was glad that he at least had Hermione. Although she had been disappearing left and right lately. And while he knew she was probably in the library, the library was not nearly as fun as talking to Ron had been. Nonetheless. It had been Hermione who shouted at a couple of Gryffindors to shut the hell up about the Tournament yesterday. The whole situation had been reaching its climax for a while now, and for some reason it seemed impossible to get away. It was, by far, the worst time he had ever had at Hogwarts.
The badges didn't help, naturally, nor did Snape's incapability of being human. So when Malfoy accidently cursed Hermione, and Ron and Harry rose up in anger together, just for a second there he thought everything was going to be alright. But then Snape denied anything happened, took points from both of them and Ron still sat with Seamus instead of with him.
Harry turned around, looking at Ron, trying to catch his eye. But when he did, Ron just scowled at him, and Snape dropped a book loudly on Harry's desk, ushering him to pay attention.
All in all, Harry was glad that a knock on the door interrupted everything.
"Potter still has an hour of Potions class left, he can come when class is finished." Snape said curtly to the poor boy, Colin Creevey, who's smile had long faded away after trying to get Harry to come with him.
"Sir.. " He said nervously "Mister Bagman has asked for all the champions. I think they are going to take photo's.."
If Harry had known this was going to happen, he would have run away as far and as fast as he could. Instead he now stared stoically at the ground, ignoring the sniggers from the Slytherins around him.
"Fine. He can go. Leave your things Potter, I want you to be back by the end of class." Snape snapped.
"But.. Sir.." Colin hesitated. "He needs to bring his things.. All the champions.."
"Very well." Snape bit harsly. "Now get out of my sight before I change my mind."
Harry quickly grabbed his bag, glancing at Ron as he walked out of the class, desperately ignoring all of the POTTER STINKS-badges. Ron refused to acknowledge his existence, instead staring intensely at his textbook. Now that was a first.
Colin talked enthusiastically all the way as he escorted Harry to the right room, not realizing that Harry wasn't paying attention at all. So naturally, he was relieved when they reached their destination. He quickly knocked on the door and went inside, leaving a still smiling Colin Creevey behind.
Harry entered a fairly small classroom, in which most of the desks had been pushed aside, leaving a space in the middle. In front of the blackboard stood a couple of desks end-to-end covered in velvet robes. Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of the chairs behind it, smiling broadly at his youngest champion.
As he looked around, he saw Victor Krum hanging moodily in a corner, obviously not interested in anything that was going on. Cedric and Fleur Delacour, on the other hand, were joined in a conversation. He planned on walking towards them, as Cedric gestured for him to come over, but Bagman interrupted by loudly calling out Harry's name. Bagman stood up, reached for Harry and dragged him almost violently towards a woman in magneta robes whom he had never seen before in his life.
"Here he is!" Bagman proclaimed "Our fourth champion! Welcome Harry, welcome, glad you could make it!" he said, completely ignoring that Harry was pretty much kidnapped out of class. "No need to worry about anything, just some wand weighing, a photo shoot, maybe a tiny interview for the Daily Prophet."
"Well, not that tiny, Ludo." The woman in magneta robes said, her interested eyes hungrily examining Harry. She wore jeweled spectacles and was clutching a crocodile-skinned handbag with thick fingers.
"Ah well, that's up to you I guess." Bagman smiled "Harry, this is Rita Skeeter, she is a journalist for the Prophet."
The woman smiled at Harry, making him strangely uncomfortable. "How about we chat for a while, Harry? You don't mind now, do you, Ludo?"
"Well if Harry has no objections.." Bagman grinned.
Before Harry could say anything, Rita Skeeter cried out "Lovely!" and dragged Harry with her to the nearest door. She opened it, almost stepped inside the tiny broom closet, and then got stopped by a twinkly-eyed Dumbledore who - thank Merlin - showed up out of nowhere.
"Hello miss Skeeter." He smiled kindly. "If you don't mind, we are about to get started."
"Dumbledore!" Rita Skeeter said in delight "How are you? Have you read my recent piece on the Wizengamot?"
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore grinned. "I particularly loved your description of me as a wacky, obsolete and half-deaf dingbat."
Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely embarrassed as Dumbledore took Harry by his shoulder and lightly pushed him back to the center of the room.
RITA SKEETER (Weighing of the Wands, 03.17 p.m.)
As expected, the Weighing of The Wands was a completely useless affair. There was literally nothing to write about who had which wand and what core and all that madness.
Now, the fact that this French witch was a quarter Veela, that was interesting. Or that Harry Potter - the Boy Who Lived for Merlin's sake - was the fourth and unexpected Champion. A shame that Dumbledore had dragged the boy away before they could have that little chat.
Still, about Fleur Delacour and Harry Potter she didn't have to worry. Krum the international Quidditch player on the other hand, didn't help her much beside the fact that it would attract a little more readers, as he avoided her for almost the entire time she was there. But then again, it was known that Krum didn't like to talk to press.
And then she had the one champion she could care less about: Cedric Diggory, the preppy golden boy. He probably never failed a class, never stole one sweet at Honeydukes or tried Butterbeer before he was old enough. No, she could definitely not write anything interesting about him. It would be Delacour and Potter all the way.
As her photographer desperately tried to get the Veela girl up front in the pictures, she decided to intervene and put Potter ahead of the others. She shoved his hair a little out of his face, making sure the lightning scar was clearly visible, and ignored the uncomfortable look in his eyes. Then, when all pictures were taken, she grinned.
When all the champions had escaped, she nodded at Dumbledore, waved at her photographer, and quickly left the room. Time for some snooping around. She could already see the front page article.
She knew by now how she was going to write Potter, the boy needed some favour on his side, but her portrayal of Fleur Delacour was yet to be undecided. This half-breed side of her would definitely piss some people off. And no one, not even Fleur Delacour, was as perfect as the image they tried to sell. There had to be someone from Beauxbatons who could tell her something interesting about the Veela girl.
Rita Skeeter had a nose for finding people who were willing to talk dirt on her subjects. But after she had finished writing everything down the Beauxbatons student in front of her had told her, she knew she had been luckier than usual with this Jacques Gaillard.